“It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.”
I’m here at the Navigator creating page templates for this year’s … er, navigator.
I’m also listening to Kurtis Blow. He fuckin’ sampled the Transformers theme. Why didn’t anyone tell me this before? Damn that’s the dope shit, yo.
I am loving the rain. I’m beginning to feel normal again. Less like that mummified cat Finkster and Brianibles had in the truck of that car.
Speaking of Finkables, I think I’m in denial she’s moving out. Best possible roommate ever!
On the upside, Chelsea’s moving in! So it’s hard to be too sad.
Chelsea and I bought a Monkey Friend. I purchased Kurtis Blow. I saw Sandeep. I found a photographer who will take fashion shots of The Clap. Hint: on Warf Street. I ate amazing extra hot curry at Baan Thai. We visted the wax museum. I could take George W. Bush, Napoleon, Hitler and Ghandi. Chelsea could take Mother Theresa and the teenage Queen Victoria… just by telling her no one likes her. She was sad looking. We neglected to pay the street performer magician guy. Chelsea for financial reasons, myself because I found him irritating. Chelsea liked his bad attitude and pirate voice.
“Adaptation” and “Punch Drunk Love” have reaffirmed my belief that I dislike movies about fucked up people getting defeated by life and winning small, trivial Pyrrhic victories in the end.
On the other hand it was the first time in years I’ve not wanted to vomit upon seeing Nick Cage’s face.
Chelsea seemed unimpressed with “The Last Starfighter.”
The DVD player was broken at work so we listened to the Fox all night. After 6 hours I was brainwashed into bobbing my head to the Chili Peppers.
Yesterday my knocked-up little cousin married her baby-daddy. It was raining and Chelsea and I were gleeful. I personally made no attempt to hide my glee. There were a lot of cowicahan goons there. And a lot of people I didn’t know. I had a mild panic attack. Chelsea and I sat at a table, by choice, with my ex-schizophrenic uncle and his cousin who is a 47 year old stuttering hospital orderly with a comb-over and a penchant for dates and times who lives with his mom and collects handguns. The wedding cake was a pyramid of cupcakes. A Diana Krall clone (only less manly) sang the processional and recessional. My aunt who is a minister in the United Church performed the ceremony. The groom’s father made a typical speech where he proclaimed he thought of the bride as his own daughter blah blah blah. He left out the part where he and his wife made their son break up with her because she wasn’t “religious enough” and threatened to disown him. Her mom being a minister doesn’t cut it. I spoke with another cousin of mine who is now executive producer of Smallville. He seems weary at the prospect of his three year contract. He used the words, “I’m trying to figure a way to get out of it. But they sue you if you try.” I hope he doesn’t because I really think The Clap should play at Superman’s highschool graduation (if they haven’t done that episode yet–I’ve never watched that show). This is the first time I’ve seen my family in two years.
JT scooped the LL vinyl from under me.
MacGregor and I went book shopping. I found a fantastic “Ninth Gate” style Satanic hardcover book from 1949 for a dollar. Exactly the sort of thing you hope you’ll find at Literacy Nanaimo but never do. Andrew was in good spirits. He’s really very pro-chicago.
Purchased coffee and onions.
“Pump Up The BasS” by DJ Jazzy Jeff and The Fresh Prince is a rather under-rated hip-hop side from ’88.
I’ve been finding the notion of service industry jobs increasingly ridiculous. The idea that you can go into any shop or restaurant and expect to be waited on by another person. And that the person will do it. They’ll actually make an attempt to satisfy your needs. It’s preposterous!
Perhaps it’s just the dirt-skids that come into MTM for ice-cream that have me thinking about this. Pretty much everyone who works there has a degree or some college education… and they’re in servitude to junkies and hobos.
Anyway, we’ve removed the cafe table and chairs from outside to limit the amount of skiddage loitering about outside panhandling or dealing crack.
Chelsea’s dad called us repeatedly this morning. He’s having problems with his ladytype.
My computer needs more vidjagames.
Tonight I saw Katherine and Ken fall violently into furniture twice. It was reported Matt-O was playing (shredding) guitar passionately for a girl. Possible cover tunes were discussed. White vs. black reggae was discussed. It’s kind of funny to think that, lacking mutual friends, after tonight I may very well never be at a party with Jessica and Co. again. Andrew did not show up an make his scene, as promised.
This morning, I worked on some KIM website thumbnails and watched “Bones”, the Snoop Dogg ghost story movie. Which was shockingly well written. And the “noble pimp” character Snoop played was interesting in the way the film-makers tried to make it seem like it was okay for him to be a drug-dealing pimp so long as he was against crack.
Back To The Future II, on the other hand, was putrid.
The Nav office is bloody hot.
Chelsea’s in the Big Ugly tonight at the Patti Smith show. Hope they’ve come up with a better plan than wandering the streets all night. Everyone at the party was impressed Chelsea went to the concert. They said things like, “Wow, Chelsea’s the real deal” and “She isn’t just all talk.”
This the end of my little vacation. Two days of doing nothing for the first time in a couple of months. Since I started at More Then Movies anyway.
Two days of ignoring the phone and not turning on my computer so my apologies to anyone who feels snubbed.
Not entirely sure what my thoughts on The Killers are yet. I think it’s going to be a CD I like in spite of my better judgement. There’s some ridiculous american radio rawk ala blink 182 and matchbox 20 slithering behind all the synths and punchy death disco basslines. Actually, kinda somewhere directly between Placebo and Stellastar*. I guess those are my thoughts on The Killers.
Chelsea and I watched the most ridiculous bollywood film before I went to work tonight. Almost as ridiculous 15 year old Paris Hilton wannabe we saw on parksville beach who said to some 11 year old boys on bikes, “Hel-lo Boyyys.” Almost as ridiculous as the hippy skank Trevor brought to the campout at Rathtrevor. She was a hidious beast. Almost as ridiculous as how much they nailed Nae’s character in “Free Enterprise”.
After reggae I plan on exploring Egyptian music.
Chelsea and I played Go. It was good.
Anyway, I’m on gmail now.